


The Irradiated Diary of Josie Ann

by delfiend



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-07-11 15:59:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7059496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delfiend/pseuds/delfiend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To whoever finds this Pip-Boy, documented inside are the records of my life, Josie Ann Smith, born on April 3rd 2056, wife to Nate Smith, my husband who was murdered in front of my eyes, and mother to Shaun Smith, my infant son who was taken by the man who murdered my husband. These records document the truth behind what happened in Vault 111, and my life since escaping the facility I was kept frozen in for 210-odd years. Please know that the words taken down are as close to the truth as I can write, and that while that events contained may be extraordinary at times, I have exaggerated nothing. Lastly, if you should find that these records don't include the rescuing of my son, I implore you, whoever you may be, to pick up my journey where I left off and do what you can to see my son safe so that I may rest in peace. For if my son has not been saved, you can assumed I died trying to do just that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. October 23, 2287

My name is Josie Ann Smith. My husband is… _was_ Nate Smith. We lived in a small little neighborhood called Sanctuary Hills in the greater Boston Area. We had a son, not even a year old, named Shaun. We were happy.

I’m getting this down now because I don’t want to forget. I don’t want to forget what my life was like before the day everything became one long nightmare. The day was October 23rd, 2077. It was a Saturday. Nate had a speech to make at the Veteran’s Hall. Codsworth, our Mr. Handy robot, made us coffee and brought in the newspaper. A salesman came to our door, imploring us to sign up for entry into the local Vault-Tec vault should nuclear war occur during our lifetime; he seemed very adamant that it _would_. We were already pre-admitted, he said, due to Nate’s service in the war. I just had to verify some information, he said. Nate wanted us to be a part of the program, for the peace of mind it would bring, so I checked the information and saw the salesman on his way. Codsworth told us Shaun needed a little attention. Nate and I went to his little room, tickled our beautiful baby boy and spun his mobile. God, if only we had known what was to come next… what would we have done differently…?

The news confirmed bombs were being dropped, the big kind, the nuclear kind. Fearing that Boston would be next, Nate scooped up Shaun and the three of us ran out the neighborhood, across the old footbridge, and up the way to the local vault. There was a fence put up blocking the way, people milling about on the wrong side and pleading to be let into the vault, to be saved, while soldiers in power armor kept them at bay. Our neighbors, the people who had bought Shaun toys when he was born, the people who offered to watch our baby boy should Nate and I need time alone… I don’t know how I had the heart to leave them all behind, flash my name to the soldier with the Vault 111 roster and be led past the fence towards the vault. I keep telling myself I couldn’t possibly know what was to happen next. But no matter what excuses I make, I can’t get the picture out of my mind… next time I saw my neighbors, they were not but skeletons and the faded fragments of a once vibrant sundress…

A solider showed us up the hill to the vault elevator, which would send us down into Vault 111. I was absolutely relieved to find that many of our neighbors were there, despite how many more were left behind at the fence. Mr. Russell, the old widower; Mr. and Mrs. Able, who were always either yelling at one another or refusing to speak to one another; and Mr. and Mrs. Whitfield, an older couple who decided to retire at Sanctuary Hills. We all crowded together on the elevator, as the Vault-Tec soldiers around us began yelling about sending the elevator down. I remember looking to Nate, who held Shaun in our arms, wondering if it was the last time I would be seeing the two of them. _It’s going to be alright_ , Nate assured, always the mind-reader.

And then we were all blinded, a flash of intense light burning across the sky as an atomic bomb made contact with Boston.

Everyone on the elevator platform began to scream. It seemed our efforts to escape nuclear fallout were for not, as the wall of blast from the impact sped towards us at an alarming rate, churning up trees and boulders and building in its wake. I wasn’t thinking about the people standing around me, watching their death approach. I wasn’t thinking about the people left behind at the fence. I wasn’t thinking about my lovely little home in Sanctuary Hills. I was looking to my husband, who curled his body around our baby boy to protect him from the inevitable death coming towards us. I was remembering the day we met, when he was young and carefree and always smiling something brilliant. I was remembering our wedding day, the absolute wonder and joy glowing on his face as I walked down the aisle. I was remembering the look on his face when Shaun was born, that pride and happiness overflowing as tears streaking down his cheeks. That’s how I wanted to remember him, my Nate, and my Shaun. Happy. Vibrant. Alive. I shut my eyes as the elevator beneath our feet dropped ever so slowly, sure that it would never drop far enough in time to save us from the atomic blast. But when the roar of a hundred trains mixed with the heat of the hottest summer day hit me, I did not die. None of us died. I opened my eyes to find myself, my Nate, my Shaun, and our neighbors all safely below ground, dropping lower into the vault. I let out my breath, not realizing I had been holding it. In that moment, I considered us safe. I thought no harm could come to my family any longer. If only I had known…

It took the elevator a while to reach the bottom, but it still wasn’t enough time to diminish the shock, and the horror, of our near brush with nuclear death. But the Vault-Tec people in the vault didn’t give us a moment to ourselves. They ushered us along, marking us down as we filed up the stairs and through a radiation check. A lady who smiled endlessly and sounded as pleasant as a retail cashier presented everyone with a vault suit, which we were all required to wear. A man in a lab coat waved Nate and Shaun and me along, leading us further into the vault. We passed another couple, neighbors I recognized but couldn’t for the life of me place their names. They too, didn’t seem to recognize Nate and me, or at least were too shocked to do so. I began to pose questions to the man in the lab coat as we went further and further into the vault. _How long will we be in here?_ He told me all my questions would be answered at orientation. I looked to Nate, who was busy bouncing Shaun and pointing out all the bright and colorful lights. He seemed calm, so I calmed down.

The man in the lab coat led us to a room will all these strange pods lined up in two rows facing one another. Inside the room I found Mr. and Mrs. Callahan, who had disappeared for the vault over a week ago, since the first sign-ups were allowed. The two of them had changed into their issued vault suits, marveling at the fit and comfort. I didn’t have time to say hello, as the man in the lab coat began talking. He told Nate and me to put on our vault suits and step into the pods facing each other. He told us it was to depressurize us in preparation for delving further into the Vault. Shaun cried as I changed and stepped towards the pod, so I quickly retraced my steps and comforted my son. _It’s alright_ , I said. _Mommy’s right here. Everything will be alright._ I stepped up into the pod, got comfortable as the hinged door descended and shut me in. There was a little window at eye level, where I watched Nate climb into the pod across from me with Shaun in his arms. The door to his pod shut. I put a hand up to the glass, and I saw him mirror the motion. The man in the lab coat said something about only being a minute, but I was too busy focusing on my husband and son, wondering what life would be like for us in Vault 111. A robotic feminine voice began to count down from five. I felt the oxygen pulled from my lungs, plunging me into the darkness of unconsciousness. But before that, there was a bitter cold, the likes of which I had never felt before. My viewing glass frosted over at the edges. And I blacked out into a deep and dreamless sleep.

They weren’t depressurizing us. They were freezing us indefinitely.

I awoke after what, at the time, seemed like no more than a few hours of sleep. I came awake gasping for air and coughing up a lung like I had the worst pneumonia in the world. My entire body felt like it had been turned to ice. My eyes peered blurry through the frosted glass window, spotting Nate and Shaun, stirring ever so slightly. I heard voices before I saw them: two figures, one rough, dressed in a biker’s clothes with extra metal plates strapped to his one arm, a voice like gravel in a blender. He pointed to Nate, and the other figure, a person decked out in a futuristic-looking hazmat suit, punched some buttons on the control panel beside Nate’s pod. It opened the door, causing Nate to begin coughing and Shaun to cry. I was nervous, but excited. They were letting us go! The war must be over! It was safe to return home! But then the commotion began. The person in the hazmat suit began to try and take Shaun from Nate, which my husband promptly jolted away from, clutching to Shaun protectively, refusing to give him up. Then the man in the biker outfit pulled a gun, warning Nate to give up Shaun or be killed. I began to pound my fist on the glass, mustering the energy from sheer panic. Surely it was all some misunderstanding!! _Bang!!!_ The sound was absolutely deafening, ringing endlessly in my ears. My heart felt like it might beat so fast it would explode. I blinked, once, twice, several times. Nate lay slumped back in his pod, the figure in the hazmat suit held Shaun, trying to bounce him and comfort him as his ears were undoubtedly bleeding from the gunshot’s sound. _Get the kid out of here,_ the biker-clad man growled to his hazmat suited friend, then stuck his face up to my glass. _At least we still have the backup_ , he sneered. I smashed my fist to the glass, but to no avail. The glass didn’t give, and my fist certainly didn’t do anything to the man’s ugly mug. I’ll never forget that face, not as long as I live: beady eyes, jagged scar running across one of them, the stone-cold expression of a heartless individual. He left from my sight, and before I had time to do anything more, I felt the oxygen sucked from my lungs once more, and the distinct crackle of freezing glass as I was pulled back into another dreamless sleep.

I awoke once more, and again it didn’t feel as if I had been asleep for very long. I still don’t know _how_ long. It could have been minutes. It could have been days. It could have been a century. I later found out that I had been asleep a total of 210-odd years, but how many of those years were the first sleep, when the Vault-Tec people put me under? How many were the second sleep, after the biker-clad villain of a man stole my son? I hope the years leaned heavily on that initial sleep. I can’t bear the thought of being a hundred years late to save my son…

When the door finally swung up and open, I tumbled out of the pod, totally weak, half frozen, and still hacking up a lung like I had the worst cause of pneumonia ever known. I stumbled to Nate’s pod, punched the buttons of the control pad I had seen the hazmat-clad figure do to open it in the first place. The door swung up and open. My hands sought to cradle the face of my husband as they sought to find a pulse. There was none. There was no more of my husband left in that pod, other than the wedding ring frosted over on the corpse’s finger. I took the ring. I tried hard not to cry, but I was sobbing uncontrollably. I checked every last pod. Mr. Russell, deceased; Mr. and Mrs. Able, deceased; Mr. and Mrs. Callahan, deceased. I began crying out in horror aloud, unable to cope with the fact that every last one of them had died. I checked the computer database. Life support had failed in every last pod aside from mine. They had all suffocated to death. I choked on another wave of sobs.

I left the room of frozen tombs behind, only to find a second one. The bodies were icy beyond recognition. I checked the database for the names, all of them more neighbors of mine, more friends: Mr. DiPietro, the kindest old man I’d ever met; Mr. and Mrs. Whitfield, who had been on the elevator with Nate and Shaun and me; The Cofran’s, the Mr. and Mrs. and their daughter Cindy, always such a lovely and friendly family. I couldn’t bear the thought of being the only person left alive. I stumbled my way down the hall, finding the emergency exit jammed. I snaked my way through the rest of the vault to try and reach the elevator, finding more and more skeletons of what once was the Vault-Tec staff of Vault 111. The sinks and water fountains still worked, and the water seemed clean. I gathered all the empty beer bottles I could find and filled them with water, packing it all into a backpack one of my neighbors must have brought with them initially. Next thing I knew, I was finding roaches the size of dogs milling about, and I had to do away with them using the security baton I had found on what once had been a Vault-Tec security guard. I reached the man in charge’s office—the Overseer, they called him—and read the logs on his computer as I filled his old 10mm pistol with all the ammo I could scrounge from his desk. The whole thing, Vault 111, my husband and my son and my neighbors and me, had been one big experiment to test some scientist’s portable cryogenic stasis pods. They never intended for us to be safe. They intended for us to be guinea pigs, scared into their corner by an atomic war and then trapped by the threat of death by radiation. I had never felt so sick to my stomach in my entire life. Was it just Vault 111? Or had the other Vaults all been some sick joke as well?

I finally made it to where my family and I had first entered the vault. I found what remained of the man in the lab coat: his bones, shreds of the coat, and his Pip-Boy, dusty but functioning. I equipped it, and it’s what I now use to record all the hell I’ve been through. At least I know if _I_ end up a pile of bones, vault suit fragments, and this Pip-Boy, what happened to me, to all of us in Sanctuary Hills, won’t be lost with me.

The Pip-Boy allowed me to open the vault door, a giant gear that rolled to the side. I ran through that door, 10mm pistol at the ready for what might lay in wait beyond the thick, protective metal. But there was nothing. Nothing but the metal stairs and the elevator that had brought me into this nightmare of a vault. I boarded the elevator without a second thought, needing more than anything to leave this nightmare behind me. Little did I know there was a whole other nightmare waiting for me at the surface…

The world was green once; I want to make that abundantly clear. It was green and bright and vibrant and _alive_! The trees were lush with greenery in the summer, and decadent with reds and oranges and yellows and browns in the fall. And though bare in the winter, the spring always saw the trees with fresh new buds of green, and often times flowers of heart-stopping pinks and whites that filled the air with their candy scent. Grass covered everything like a sea of bright green waves, often overflowing with fields of colorful flowers, far more beautiful and captivating than any picture or painting could tell. The woods were deep and cool with the shade of a millions leaves, overlapping into that of a spotty roof, dappling the ground with dancing shadows and playful spots of light. Undergrowth grew in thick and alive, some even climbing their way up the bark of the trees and bringing green to every inch of the forest. And the birds! The birds would sing their songs, special to each and every one. You could hear it in the clearest of mornings when the sun rose all golden and shy from the horizon. You could hear it lazily on the hot summer day as they roosted in the shady leafy trees and chatted the day away. You could hear it in the cool of evening, when the sun had dipped below the horizon and left twilight to settle a blue veil over the world. And even at night, some birds, lonely and few, would call our mournfully in the dark, amongst a symphony of insects buzzing and chirping and humming, nature’s very own lullaby. And when the insects weren’t buzzing, the people were, traveling about in their cars to and from the city, out in the lawns tending to their own personal flowers, children’s laughter echoing as they chased one another in good fun, mingling with the laughter of good friends as they shared drinks and stories, tipping their caps to their neighbors, smiling from dawn to dusk, and smiling all night as they dreamt sweet dreams of laughter and friendship and family.

You can imagine my shock when what lay before my eyes was brown and dead and eerily silent.

I feel so utterly alone. I retraced my steps from the day my family and I had run to the safety of the Vault. The Vault-Tec soldiers operating the elevator were no more than skeletons. I passed the fence where my neighbors had been pleading for entrance into the Vault, finding their skeletons still waiting for admittance, still hoping. I tip-toed across the footbridge which had become little more than a few broken boards spanning the length of the creek running behind Sanctuary Hills. And then I emerged into my neighborhood, or rather, what was left of it. Like the skeletons and fragments of clothing of my neighbors, Sanctuary Hills was little more and collapsed houses and faded paint. Car sat abandoned on the churned-up pavement of the streets, rusted completely to the very core. Tires and metal barrels and boards and other such debris littered the yards and the streets of my neighborhood. Not a single soul left in what was once such a lively and happy town. No one but Codsworth, who seemed ecstatic to see me but delusional about the truth of what had happened. That’s when I learned how long I had been frozen for—210-odd years. But poor Codsworth, despite how easily he accepted I was alive after 200-some years, he couldn’t understand Nate was dead. He couldn’t understand Shaun was kidnapped. Hell, I could hardly get my head around the fact without feeling faint enough to collapse and die on the spot. The sweet robot, he insisted we search the neighborhood for my late husband and missing infant son. All we found were some giant—and I mean _giant_ —house flies, which Codsworth quickly dispatched, thank the Lord! It all sunk in for Codsworth then; there was no more Nate, and Shaun was truly kidnapped. My loyal bot: even after 200 years of taking care of my home, of the neighborhood, he still hadn’t tired of it, and proposed he stay put to continue to do just that. He also suggested I head down the road to Concord, where he knew of other people to be who may or may not know something about Shaun. It was strange to think that there were still people around. Not people frozen for 200-some years like myself, but people who were born and lived and died in this nightmare of a world I had all but just stepped into.

I wasn’t at all sure I could make the journey to Concord, or at least, not right away. Despite having been asleep for over two centuries, I was awfully exhausted after such an emotionally charged day. Instead, I began to clean up the house across the street from my own, which had been a model home before… everything. I couldn’t bear to step inside my own home. I wanted to remember it how it used to be, with the freshly painted walls and the mobile spinning on Shaun’s crib, just like I wanted to remember Nate: Happy. Vibrant. Alive. So, in the model home, I set about picking up the furniture that had been discombobulated from the initial atomic blast, cleaning up the debris and bits of roof and wall that had crumbled and scattered on the floor. In Mr. Russell’s root cellar, I found an old mattress and a store of clean water and food, the old man’s own personal fallout shelter, should he not make it to the vault in time. I took the mattress to the model home, along with the food and water. A metal bedframe was still wonderfully intact, and with the mattress from the root cellar, I had a fully functional bed for the night. Before I lay my head down, I forced myself to eat a cold can of Pork N Beans and drink a whole bottle of purified water. I knew from experience that grief could easily kill you if you let it. My mother had let it get to her, after my father and brother died in a car accident. She stopped eating, just wasted away. So I shoved the Pork N Beans down no matter how not-hungry I felt. I’m not going to let grief kill me. Not while Shaun could still be out there. I’m making sure to get this all down now, while it’s fresh. Now that it’s done, I can finally get some sleep. Hopefully nothing tries to kill me while I’m sleeping, because if they do, they’ll be sorry. The 10mm is tucked under my pillow. Nothing’s going to keep me from finding my baby boy. Not now. Not ever.


	2. October 26th, 2287

I wanted to write the past two days, but after all the happened, I was much too exhausted. The moment I hit the mattress each night, I was out cold. So I’m writing it now, since I’ve been confined to my bed for the day. This cut on my arm has turned quite infected, and I’m hoping with a little bedrest it’ll just die down. But I digress…

As soon as dawn hit, I headed down the road from Sanctuary Hills to Concord. I was honestly very nervous to be heading out on my own, but Codsworth _insisted_ that he stay behind and watch over the home-front. However, I wasn’t alone for long. Just as I was passing by the Red Rocket gas station—in crumbling disarray much like Sanctuary Hills—I spotted movement, and turned my attention to find a dog sniffing about the old gas pumps. A beautiful German Shepard in fact, who seemed friendly as I approached cautiously. He sniffed me and then immediately demanded all sorts of petting, which I gave willingly. After a little poking around in search of the dog’s owner, I found him to be alone. Well, not anymore, because he promptly headed down the road with me.

I took my time reaching Concord, my curiosity getting the better of me as I snooped around the crumbling, abandoned houses, gathering what supplies I found useful. It got to a point that I began to hear an exchange of gunfire. It was a careful decision to head down the road, 10mm pistol drawn and held ready as I snuck from one piece of cover to the next. I found a group of people dressed in rags and make-shift armor fashioned from odds and ends, shooting as a group up at a single individual perched on the balcony of the old Concord museum. For a minute or two, I was unsure with how to proceed, not wanting to make enemies of the very first—and potentially _last_ —people I had come across in this nightmare I was living. But one of the rag-clad gasmask-wearing folk noticed me, and immediately open fired. I ducked behind my cover, finally able to decide who to shoot.

It didn’t take long, with me and the man on the balcony and the dog, all attacking the gang of foul-mouthed killers at once, for every last one of them to hit the ground dead and full of holes. The man on the balcony called down to me, pulling my attention away from the gruesome sight of the corpses, claiming that he had a group of settlers inside the museum that were pinned by more of the same thugs, which he called raiders. He asked me to help, and then disappeared inside, no doubt to fight off said raiders. I took a moment to pick the best pieces of armor off of the corpses of the raiders. None of that junk made from pots and pans and clothes hangers, but the stuff made out of leather. A leg here, an arm there, and a final chest-piece found my vault suit fully equipped to handle taking down a siege. With one bug breath, I reloaded my 10mm pistol and burst through the museum doors.

First thing I noticed was the raider up on the second floor—well, more like what was left of it, which wasn’t much more than a bridge and two narrow strips hugging the walls. I quickly ducked down a hallway before she could see me and pepper me with bullets. The entire museum was like something out a fever dream. Motion sensors triggered lights and audio recordings meant to replicate dialogue from the ancient Revolutionary War, while the mannequins lay scattered on the floor and a few still standing, most of them rotting away though some still decked out in red coats. Nothing put me on edge quite like trying to decide what were mannequins and what were alive and armed and dangerous. Luckily, my new dog seemed to have a good sense for the bad guys versus the models, so I let him take the lead as we zig-zagged our way through the museum.

The gunfire popped and sputtered and echoed loudly inside the museum halls, becoming louder as I emerged into a fairly large room, with big wide stairs leading up to the second floor, and the floor beneath me collapsing downwards into the basement.  Before I climbed the stairs up, something else caught my eye: a big reactor humming away behind a locked gate down inside the basement. The coast seemed clear, so with my dog watching my back, I jumped on the computer controlling the lock on the gate and hacked my way into the system, an act I was finding wasn’t as hard as I always thought it would be. Once in, I activated the lock switch and the door to the reactor opened just a touch. I swung it open and ducked inside, finding the thing to be powered by a single fusion power core, a removable source of energy which I quickly took for myself and lugged into my backpack. I figured I could use the power back at Sanctuary Hills. Get some lights on, listen to some radio…

A spray of bullets burrowed into the wood behind me and by my feet, spooking me behind some cover. I heard a voice, harsh and vulgar taunting me to come out, as my dog growled viciously and took off. More bullets thudded into my cover, and the 10mm sat shaking in my hands. A second later, I heard my attacker cry out in pain to the tune of a vicious snarl, and I poked my head out to find my dog had climbed to the second floor and bit the gun arm of the raider shooting at me. I aimed, and with the raider held in place by my dog’s jaws, I shot. _Pow Pow Pow!!_ Three bullets ripped through their chest. If they weren’t dead by then, my dog’s teeth in their throat surely did the trick. God, it was gruesome. I remember stalling there, by my cover, dry heaving for a minute or two as the image flashed through my mind: the bright red blood, their horrendous screams, the spastic jerking of their body in those last few moments as life left them. It didn’t matter that they were a blood-thirsty person. They were still a _person_. My dog returned to me after that, whimpering and fur around his face red with blood. I ruffles his ears. It made me feel better. I pressed on up to the second floor.

All the raiders were gathered up on the second floor, ganging up on this one door, where no doubt the man from the balcony and his friends were pinned down. I fired my gun in quick succession, hoping to get lucky more than I was really aiming. I cringed every time the bullets came flying back, splintering the wood around me and coming awfully close to tearing me to pieces. One of them actually nicked my arm, up high by my shoulder, sending me into a spiral of panic and pain. Once again, my dog came to my rescue, pouncing on the raiders, tearing into them and distracting them long enough for me to take the most of them out. The last two were killed as the barricaded door opened and the man from the balcony shot them dead. He eyed me from where I stood petrified on the other side of the second floor. _Come on inside, it’s safe now_ , he said, motioning me over. I tip-toed my way across a thin portion of flooring left intact connecting the one wall of the second floor to the other. My dog waited for me, panting as he stood over the corpses, bloodied but still a sweet dog at the core. He took to my side as I passed and walked through the door, finding my friend from the balcony, among four others dressed in the sort of civilized, normal clothing I was used to seeing. Immediately, I knew that these were my people, the sort of people that had morals and hearts and value peace.

Long story short, the man from the balcony introduced himself as Preston Garvey, a member of the Minutemen, which are apparently a thing resurrected from the history books into my nightmare. The people with him were just civilians, trying to find a place to settle down and be safe since Quincy. The poor folks, having travelling across all of the greater Boston area and still finding trouble. I knew in my heart I immediately wanted to see them safe, first and foremost, before I continued after Shaun. Good people like them deserved good things, like a home, like peace of mind. Preston continued, saying there were more raiders outside now, pinning them down inside the museum. One of the civilians, a twangy-voiced handyman-looking fellow by the name of Sturges, proposed with a great degree of passion his idea to utilize a suit of power armor left on the roof to rip a mini-gun off the Vertibird aircraft that had crashed into the museum. Only problem, Sturges said, was that the power armor was out of juice, and needed the fusion core form the reactor downstairs that was all locked up tight. I smiled, pulling the fusion core from my pack. _You mean this fusion core?_ That gave both Sturges and Preston the biggest smile, and I was glad I could help to put it there. These kind folks deserved to smile more. I volunteered to be the one to don the power armor and mow down the raiders with the mini-gun, but only when I realized I was the only choice. Preston couldn’t risk dying and leaving his group of civilians defenseless and leaderless. I couldn’t tell if Sturges had much combat experience, but from his lack of volunteering, I assumed the answer was no. The other civilians were an old woman, and a couple in the late thirties who sat quacking in the corner after the initial raider attack. So me it was. Lord knows I was scared to death.

I left the dog with the civilians and Preston Garvey. If anything happened to me, I needed him to be safe, to be looked after. We’d hardly been together a day and yet I was already too attached to the lovable canine. Guess that testifies to just how utterly lonely I am. I climbed the stairs to the roof, emerging through a hatch and looking around cautiously. There it was, practically sparkling in the sunlight: the T-45 Power Armor. I snuck over to it, still warry that those raiders may spot me on the roof and fill me full of holes should I make myself a target. The power armor was a bit banged up when up close, one of the arms and one of the legs more crunched than I would have liked, but it was still better against the bullets than a vault suit and some extra leather padding. I took the power core from mypack, jamming it into the slot in the back of the armor. After really banging it in, the suit came to attention as opposed to the slight slump I had found it in. I poked and prodded around to figure out how to get the thing open, but eventually I realized I had to turn the wheel on the back, and the whole thing opened up for me to step inside. I did so, and the suit shut around me, the glass by my face lighting up with information: the energy left in the fusion core, the damage done to the suit, a compass, among other more complicated and unknown readings. I took a step forward. The suit was a bit clunky, but it responded well to my movement. A little more testing and I found myself rather proficient at driving the thing around.

Next step was to take the mini-gun from the crashed Vertibird. In the power armor, I ducked into the Vertibird, finding the mini-gun welded to the open side of the aircraft. I wiggled my fingers in anticipation, then took a hold of the gun with my giant metal power armor hands, attempting to rip it from the welding. To my surprise, it gave real easy with the strength of the power armor. The giant gun was also quite light in the hands of my giant metal suit, again, much to my surprise. And with that, I took one last deep breath and jumped off the roof of the museum into the hoard of raiders below.

There isn’t much to tell. In the power armor, bullets deflected off me without any problem, so I just stood there in the middle of them all, revved up the mini-gun, and open fired on the lot of them. The blood went everywhere, but it was odd; behind the yellowed window of the power armor, with all the other info light up in my view, the gore didn’t really seem real; it was more like a movie or something. The raiders weren’t a problem. The problem was the _huge_ lizard-dinosaur-monster thing that burst out of some sewer construction sight beneath the streets all of a sudden!! It was like Godzilla, except not quite big enough to tear apart cities, just little old me in my metal suit. Even in my power armor, I was terrified this thing would tear me limb from metal limb. I ran, and I’m not ashamed to say it. If you’d seen this thing, you’d have run too. Its claws were longer than my arm, its teeth like those huge icicles that form off the roof in the depths of winter, its skin looked tougher than metal-studded concrete. Preston later told me the things were called Deathclaws. Let me tell you, the name doesn’t even do it justice, and _that’s_ saying something! Much to my poor luck, the creature saw me run and came after me on all fours, tearing up the pavement in its charge. I turned sharply and lunged through the doorway to this old abandoned shop on the street corner, turning from my spot of the floor to face the door, excepting to see the creature tear through the building like a house of cards and rip me to pieces. Instead, it stalled there, outside the doorway, unsure of how to proceed. It paced, swiping its huge claws through the smashed windows, roaring in its frustration. I knew a miracle when I saw one, and that moment was one for sure. Not having a moment to lose, I took up the mini-gun from where it had skidded across the floor and jammed down the trigger, open firing into the beast. The chain of bullets ran dry by the time that terrifying creature hit the ground, dead. It was several more minutes afterwards, my metal-covered finger still jamming the trigger, that I realized it was over. The raiders were dead. The monstrosity was dead. I had done it. I had saved the day, if you’d call it that. It hardly felt heroic. It felt more like one long moment of panic that somehow ended well for us all.

I left the power armor and the mini-gun there in the abandoned shop, heading back inside the museum to tell Preston Garvey and his group that they were safe to leave. At that point, I had decided I wanted them to stay, to be a part of my life rebuilding Sanctuary Hills. I found them waiting there inside the doors, and when I spoke to Preston, he told me that the old woman with them, Mama Murphy, had a vision of this place called Sanctuary, and that they were headed there to settle down. He asked me to accompany them, and of course I accepted, figuring I could mention my ties to Sanctuary Hills at some other time. Perhaps when we got there. So that’s what I did. We all headed up the road towards my old neighborhood, me wearing the power armor so as to take it back to where I could fix it up and use it if needed. The dog followed, dashing off eagerly ahead of us all. I reached the Red Rocket Gas Station before everyone else—Mama Murphy was slowing them down considerably—and raided the place for food and supplies. I found a little bit, but not much. It suddenly occurred to me that all the food I had gathered would be going to feed six mouths instead of one, and I began to worry about just how long all my supplies and food would last for me and my new neighbors.

The civilians and Preston and I all reached Sanctuary Hills just after sunset. Codsworth was relieved to see me, and though he was awfully skeptical of the grungy rag-tag bunch I had brought with me, he accepted the fact that I trusted them and took it upon himself to truth them too. Preston scouted around the neighborhood before reconvening with me at me little spot in the old model home. He told me he thought the place was nice, a real place to call home. I chuckled a bit to myself, mentioning how it had always been that to me, before the war. He was shocked, baffled, or perhaps just confused. _Before the war?_ He asked. _But that would mean…_ I explained how I had been in Vault 111, explained how they kept us frozen for 200-some years, but that I was the only one who survived. The kind man expressed his sympathies.

Not much more happened that day. I ate some Sugar Bombs and InstaMash and drank a bottle of water, and then passed out for the night.

The next day was jammed packed with a lot of hard work, but I enjoyed every second of it. The productivity did wonders to combat the despair that clung to me like a bad smell. With the help of Preston, Sturges, Jun and Marcy Long, and Codsworth, we managed to clean up all the debris littering the streets and lawns and houses of Sanctuary Hills. We drug all the fallen trees to one area to chop up and use as lumber, and began repairing some of the least damaged buildings. I worked hard to gather up all the salvageable furniture for repurposing, or redecorating the houses once they were cleaned up and put back together again. It wasn’t until later in the day, while I set about repairing all the picket fencing in the neighborhood, that the cut on my arm—left by the stray bullet shot by one of the raiders at the museum the day before—began to pain me something awful. I was suddenly taking frequent breaks, drinking a lot of water as something of a fever took hold into the evening, and eventually found myself working one-armed into the night. When I finally hit the bed, it was sometime close to midnight. I was out cold before I even had time to change out of my vault suit.

That brings us to today. I ate breakfast with everyone and divvied up the work for the day before refilling our empty bottles with fresh water and heading to clean out more of the houses. I didn’t even get an hour’s worth of work in before Codsworth was up in a tizzy about the state of my arm. Preston came over due to the Mr. Handy’s commotion and insisted he check out the injury on my arm. _Infected, pretty bad_ , he said as he wrapped it up in a fresh cloth soaked in clean water. _I just hope it doesn’t get worse. The only place you’ll find a proper doctor is in Diamond City. And that’s a full day’s journey south, into Boston._ I countered with that I could easily make it to the city should I need attention. It was my _arm_ that was injured, not my leg! Preston just shook his head. _It’s not the distance that worries me,_ he sighed. _It’s all the dangers that lay in wait south of here._

So now I’m confined to my bed for the day, which isn’t so bad, because I’m honestly so exhausted from these past few days. It seems that no matter how much I rest, I can’t seem to wake up feeling totally refreshed and ready for the day. Maybe it’s the infection. Codsworth says I’m running a little bit of a fever. It doesn’t matter. Whatever it is, I’ll beat it. Heck, if I can kill that monstrous Deathclaw, I can beat a little infection! Honestly, it’s not _that_ bad…


	3. October 27th, 2287

Remember when I said it couldn’t be that bad? Well… it got _that_ bad. To say I hardly survived by the skin of my teeth today, I think even that’s perhaps an understatement. It was terrifying. Today, I almost died, on several occasions. I honestly can’t tell you how I’m still standing. Well, I suppose that’s not quite true, as I’m about to do just that. I’ll just get right into it then, shall I?

I spent the majority of the day yesterday lying about and trying to get rest so this injection in the cut on my arm would subside. It was bad, sure, but not terrible. Not until that night, at least. The fever struck out of nowhere, quite literally jolting me from a deep sleep. Codsworth and Preston were up all night with me, trying desperately to keep my fever down and my injection from spreading. I don’t quite remember the details; everything’s sort of this hot, fuzzy haze of uneasiness. By morning, it was abundantly clear that my infection wasn’t about to get better on its own. I needed medication, and better yet, a medical professional. At Sanctuary Hills, we had neither of these. Preston had said I could only find them in Diamond City. So I began to pack myself a bag before the sun had even crept over the horizon. Preston wouldn’t stop babbling about all the dangers on the road, throwing out names that to him must have carried a lot of weight and fear, but no me meant next to nothing. In a moment of total clarity within the haze of sickness, I sat with Preston and explained that if I didn’t go, I would die lying in my bed. As long as I left for Diamond City, there was a chance, no matter how small, that I would live. I told him I needed to take that chance, for my son, for Shaun. He seemed to understand, then. He began to insist that he accompany me, see me protected on my journey. I declined the offer, no matter how persistent Preston was; and trust me, he was _very_ persistent. With my clarity rapidly slipping, I explained as calmly as I could that his place was here, with his people, the people who needed him to survive. While Sanctuary Hills was peaceful, there was nothing to stop the raiders reaching Concord from wandering a little further up the road and finding Sanctuary. _Besides_ , I mustered up a smile. _Codsworth can keep me safe. I’ve seen what that hedge trimmer and crème brulee torch of his can do_.

I left Sanctuary Hills with food and water and supplies in my backpack and my 10mm pistol in my hand. The sun was just rising as I made my way across the bridge, looking back to Preston and my dog, who stood watching my departure in the bask of the sun’s soft golden glow. I felt something awful in my stomach, and it wasn’t from my sickness. It was a sadness, a sort of retrospective mourning. It was like I knew I wouldn’t see them again. I hope my gut feeling was wrong. I hope I’ll return to Sanctuary Hills, if not soon, than one day…

I checked my Pip-Boy and Codsworth and I trekked over the barren landscape, passing the Red Rocket Station on our way. Preston had helped me mark the location of Diamond City on the Pip-Boy’s map, and its GPS system told me of my own location on the map in real time. _A little more south by southwest, Codsworth_ , I remember saying. The first portion of our travels weren’t so bad. It seemed there was very little danger to encounter this far north in the Commonwealth, or at least out in the open where there was nothing of interest. Our first problem came when we approached an old abandoned house. By then, we had already put a good two miles between us and Sanctuary Hills. My arm throbbed like it was in flames, and my returning fever zapped any reserves of energy I may have had. The house was a godsend: sheltered, cool, and probably ripe with supplies, perhaps even of the medical variety. It was perfect, up until Codsworth and I got close enough to see inside the opened front door. _The hell is that…_?! I remember saying in something of a whispered scream of horror. It looked like a bear, but a bear that had been through a forest fire and then dropped in a pool of flesh-eating acid and then featured in one of those horror films I remember watching with Nate at the cinema when we were dating. There were only three things I knew for certain in that moment: that I needed to be in that house, that I had to get the bear-like monster out of the house, and that in my pack I had two grenades I had taken off of a raider at Concord. _Codsworth, do you think you could lure it outside..?_ I held one of the grenades in my hand, flashing it to my robotic friend. Codsworth, always the bright one, picked up on my plan immediately. _Right away, mum!_ He zoomed off towards the house, hovering in the doorway while he threw insults at the bear-like monster and blasted the thing with is blow torch. The monster roared out in pain and rage, charging at Codsworth, who in turn sped out the door. Instead of coming back to me, the clever bot headed at an angle that gave me a much better target. Once the monster was far enough from the house, I pulled the pin from the grenade and hurled it towards the beast. The explosion came a lot faster than I had anticipating, both blinding and deafening me. I was glad for both, however, as Codsworth later told me the bear-like monster turned into a million little pieces that made a horrifying squishing sound as they fell back down to the ground. The last thing I needed in my state was to be spewing my decent breakfast all over the ground.

The house was a sad sight, to say the least. From what I could tell, it had first been taken over by raiders—what became of the original inhabitants, I couldn’t say—and then later occupied by the bear-like monster that had killed the raiders. Their bodies still littered the ground, huge bites taken out of them, guts spilling over onto the ground where all manner of insects were feasting. Codsworth fussed something awful about the bodies, seeing to it that they were taken outside and away from my sight. I poked around the house a bit while Codsworth did just that, finding some first-aid supplies, but nothing to fix me. I popped a few ibuprofen to help with the swelling in my arm and the fever racking my body, then set about cleaning out my infected arm wound and re-bandaging it. The original bandage had only been there a few hours, and it was already putrid with yellowish pus. The house always contained a few untouched cans of food, and a single bottle of water. I made use of both while I curled up on a battered old couch. Codsworth had hardly returned for a minute, going on and on about how we couldn’t afford to stay long if we were to make it to the city afore dark, before I out like a light.

I couldn’t have been asleep more than an hour before Codsworth was rousing me whole-heartedly from my slumber. I didn’t mind; I felt immeasurably better, the ibuprofen working miracles. I forced myself to pick over the bodies of the raiders before we left, managing to gather a few more rounds of ammo and a pack of bubblegum that wasn’t soaked in blood. I smiled to myself, something of a sad, nostalgic smile. There had hardly been a moment when Nate and I first met and first began dating that he didn’t have gum in his mouth. Our first kiss had been between me, him, and a wad of bubblegum. I couldn’t never really stand bubblegum, not when it felt like I was being cheated on with the stuff. I kept the pack anyways, because it reminded me of Nate. Of the Nate I _wanted_ to remember. The happy-go-lucky, carefree, boyishly lovesick Nate.

The further south Codsworth and I got, the more activity we began to notice in the seemingly dead countryside. Gunfire, too, echoed distantly in the air, feeling almost as natural in this new Commonwealth as the chirps of birds were in mine. Codsworth began to chat to fill the silence between us, going on about his high hopes for Diamond City with its nickname being “The Great Green Jewel of the Commonwealth.” I smiled. If one thing hadn’t changed in the 200-odd years I had been absent, it was Codsworth’s magnetic cheer and charisma. We passed beneath the interstate, heading into what I recognized to be the remains of Cambridge. I started down the road into the town when Codsworth stopped me. _This here road is rife with land mines, mum_ , he said in a tone that sounded more critical of someone’s cleanliness habits than warning. With Codsworth help, I managed to tip-toe around all the mines, getting further into town in the progress. It would have been a triumphant moment, if it hadn’t been for what happened next. It felt like I had stumbled into a scene of _Zombie_ , one of Nate’s most favorite of all horror films. The corpses around me began to stir, making guttural groans and growls as they did. My 10mm pistol came up, ready to shoot, but it was then, trying to pick a target, that I realized just how many there were! It was if the entire town as rising from the dead! _Codsworth, run!!_ I screamed, taking off at a full sprint down the road. I didn’t have a plan. I didn’t have a destination. All I had was the slapping of bare zombie feet chasing me down and the blind panic that comes in the midst of a brush with death.

Obviously, I survived, or I wouldn’t be writing this now. This is how it happened: I had hardly gotten a block down the road when I heard gunfire, popping very close by. I turned my head and found the old Cambridge Police Station had been turned into something of a fortress, surrounded by makeshift walls with only a few entrance points. I didn’t have time to think, I just barreled into the police station, screaming my head off: _Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!_ I don’t know where Codsworth was; he must have been sawing through a hoard of zombies, criticizing their personal hygiene. I ended up with my back to the closed police station doors, 10mm pistol held out in front of me as I shot at the hordes of zombies pouring through the three openings in the barricade. There was another woman to my left, in some sort of uniform, shooting alongside me. Another uniformed man lay curled up, clutching to a wound in his stomach. And in front of us all, standing at the edge of the police stations steps in full power armor, was another man, mowing down the zombies as they poured in and hurled themselves at him.

I couldn’t tell you how long it was, the zombies seeming endless and the guns shooting them far too few. But eventually, it all stopped, came to that calming lull I was used to. The man in the power suit confronted me then, asked what my business was. He was the sort of guy who could scowl for an entirety, with his heavy-set brow and his serious eyes. He reminded me of one of Nate’s good friends growing up, a boy called Rich who always acted ten years older than everyone and kept my Nate from winding up dead or in jail more times than I could count. I told the man, as he towered above me in his power armor, that I was headed to Diamond City to find a doctor, showing him my bandaged arm. He nodded to himself and told me that I better be on my way if I was to make it before dark. _Wait,_ I said hesitantly. _If I may, is there anything I can do to help..?_ I suggested buying them more supplies while I was in the city, as I was bound to pass their little police station bunker my way back to Sanctuary Hills… assuming I survived the journey to Diamond City and the infection first. The man said he didn’t want to be indebted to a civilian, but the woman in uniform cut in and said that they could use some more basic medical supplies, and food and water if I could find it. She introduced herself as Scribe Haylen—I’m going to assume Scribe is her title, not her first name. You have to like Scribe Haylen, she’s just that sort of person. Polite but bold, friendly but commanding. I took of my pack and offered up all the basic medical supplies I had taken from the abandoned home on my way, and as much food and water as I could spare. _If I make it to Diamond City, they’ll be plenty of supplies waiting for me there. If I don’t… well than I certainly won’t be needing these._ She thanked me, and I introduced myself. _Josie Ann_ , I said. _Used to live around here before the bombs fell._ Scribe Haylen was confused, of course, so I explained as briefly as I could about Vault 111, about being frozen for 200-some years, and just now being thawed out. I didn’t, however, mention anything about my son. For as nice of people as this lot seemed, I had no clue who could be connected to the man who stole Shaun. Last thing I needed was for that bastard to know I was coming for him.

Codsworth had returned to me by then, seemingly unharmed. I wished these people good luck, and promised that I would bring supplies and aid next time I passed through. I was just about to leave, when the man in the power armor pulled me aside. He thanked me for my help, and introduced himself. _Paladin Danse of the Brotherhood of Steel_. He wished me luck with getting help with the infection. He actually seemed to generally care. I don’t know why it surprised me, but it did. All too soon, I was back on the road, 10mm pistol held ready, arm beginning to throb and fever beginning to rack my body with shivers.

The rest of Cambridge was rather calm, but I was on high alert the whole time. After that initial scare of that hoard of zombies, my adrenaline was coursing and wouldn’t let me come down. Cambridge came to an end at the Charles River. The road continued on to a bridge, caught halfway between being down and being draw up to a ninety-degree angle. Codsworth and I headed up the bridge, reaching the end of one half to find there was hardly a gap between our side and the next, managing the space easily and crossing the rest of the bridge and entering the city. And I just had to pause a moment. I had to pause and look at what was left of my Boston. I used to know every street like the lines on my palms. I used to know every shop, and the people that owned them, kind or otherwise. I used to know how to find trouble, or how to avoid it entirely. But this? This wasn’t my Boston. The nightmare had twisted it and misshapen it until I hardly recognized it anymore. Most of the buildings had been warn to indistinguishable blocks of concrete and glass, crumbling and put back together again. This city was the monster to my Boston’s Frankenstein. I stepped through the street stretching in front of me like I was in some sort of dream. But I was, wasn’t I? A person wasn’t meant to see their world crumble. And this city… it made me realize just how cold and in the ground I should be. It was the spatter of gunfire, like the popping of hot grease, that roused me from my dumbfounded horror. _Mum!_ Codsworth explained. _Look here! A sign! “Diamond City”. It appears it’s this way, mum!_

We followed the signs to reach Diamond City. The closer we got, I began to notice what appeared to be guards, dressed in umpire gear and patrolling the streets. I should have felt safe. But truth be told, I didn’t. I didn’t feel safe anywhere. Maybe it was the fever warping my mind, but I didn’t trust a single soul in this nightmare. No one but Codsworth, the only person I knew to be real. I digress. We reached the gates of Diamond City to find them shut. A woman was yelling into an intercom about being let in, and a timid voice on the other end informed her that she wasn’t allowed back in. I could help but smile. She reminded me of a woman at my night school, loud mouthed and defiant, always speaking her mind no matter the scandal. What had been her name..? The woman motioned to me, dropping her voice as she spoke. _You want in to Diamond City, right?_ I nodded, not bothering to add how it looked like it didn’t matter what I _wanted_ , the door was shut. It was obvious the press-cap, red-coat, scarf-clad lady had an idea. She spoke into the intercom again, pretending to be conversing with me, sounded super impressed that I had enough supplies to stock the general store for a month. I couldn’t help but give her a lopsided smile through the aching pain in my arm and the pins and needles feeling of fever. It must be a small general store if a stray Fancy lad Snack Cake and a half bottle of water could stock the general store that long. It was a silly thought, but I got a laugh out of it. To her credit, the woman—the man on the intercom called her Piper—got the gates to open with her rouse.

We entered “Diamond City”, which was housed inside the Fenway Park Stadium, or at least, what had once been… you get the idea. Piper was immediately confronted by a man who later introduced himself as the mayor. She had scratched my back, so I did a solid and scratched hers. I backed her up in front of the mayor, frazzling the man who called me “Diamond City material” and clearly didn’t want to spook me away from his city. In the end, the mayor gave, and Piper and I climbed the stairs that led to the bleachers and the baseball field. She gave me a casual thank you, and asked me to stop by her newspaper office later for an interview. I’m sure it was obvious by my Vault-Tec jumpsuit that I was straight out of a vault. And it was clear by the sparkle in Piper’s eyes that she knew that meant and interesting story. I agreed, parting ways with her as we descended onto what was once the field, and was now a lively little compact town, but not before I got directions from her to the medical professional in town. Her directions led me into the center of the little city, bustling with shops and people. The doctor’s name was Carrington. I told him about my arm, and he said he could fix it, for twenty caps. It took us about a minute for him to inform me he meant the caps of Nuka Cola bottles, apparently the new currency of the Commonwealth, and for me to gather that sum up as payment. Once done, however, the doctor went right to work, sparing no expense to treat the infection in my arm and close up the wound, as well as medicate me for the poisoning the infection had caused and the fever consuming me. His medication worked miraculously quick, and though it left me feeling a thousand times better, it also dropped my adrenaline levels, and I suddenly felt ready to pass out and sleep for another 200 years. I found Codsworth talking with a robot who seemed to run a noodle stand. The robot only said one phrase, but Codsworth managed to translate the meaning behind the impaired robot, giving his sympathies for his malfunction. Once I retrieved Codsworth, the two of us began wandering about in an attempt to find somewhere to lay my head for the night. After a bit of zig-zagging, we came upon the Dugout Inn, a little establish it seemed most used to drink, and then pass out after drinking. While Codsworth chatted away with the man behind the bar, Vadim, about using his moonshine as a fuel source, while I talked with the bartender’s brother, Yefim, about a room. He gave me Room 2, which I promptly entered. I took a quick nap, then woke back up to buy food from Vadim.  I’ve been eating it while I get all this down.

So yeah, I made it to Diamond City. Now that I’m here, and not dying of infection, all I can think about is Shaun. A big city like this, someone has to know where he is. But then there’s the problem of who’s in cahoots with his kidnapper… I noticed a sign for a “Valentine’s Detective Agency” when looking for a place to sleep. Perhaps I’ll check in there tomorrow, see what this detective can do to help me in my search. Surely I can trust a detective, right? I better get to sleep. Doctor Carrington says rest is crucial if I’m to recover completely. I just hope Shaun’s okay… I wish he knew his mommy’s coming for him…


End file.
